


The Best of Enemies

by JantoJones



Series: Modest Briefings (The 2nd 100) [39]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 15:45:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17921729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones





	The Best of Enemies

Illya Kuryakin drummed his fingers on the steering wheel before checking his watch for the twentieth time. He was waiting for his partner, who had gone into a motel room thirty minutes previously. It wasn’t the first time he had been left waiting while Napoleon met a contact, but this time was very different. The person he was meeting had turned out to be Angelique.

It was fairly obvious immediately that nothing work related was going to happen, which left Illya feeling somewhat voyeuristic. Admittedly, he wasn’t witness to anything that was happening inside, but he was excruciatingly aware of it. Another ten had minutes passed when Illya’s communicator began to beep.

“Kuryakin,” he snapped, after assembling the device

“Where are you,” Alexander Waverly asked. “And why is Mr Solo not answering his communicator.”

“We had a request for a meeting from a contact,” Illya replied. “Mr Solo is with her now.”

“Her?”

“I do not know who she is,” the agent lied.

Illya chewed on his lip as he listened to Waverly grumble about Solo and his dalliances.

“I want you both back here immediately,” the Old Man instructed. “You are flying out to Spain this evening.”

The channel was shut off abruptly, and Illya looked across at the door Napoleon was behind. He was going to have to interrupt things. He thought about using the communicator but, since it hadn’t been any use to Waverly, he would no doubt have the same lack of success. Reluctantly, he got out of the vehicle and went to knock on the door.

At first there was no answer. It wasn’t until he called out that the door was finally opened. However, it wasn't Napoleon standing on the other side, but Angelique. She was wrapped in a blue bed sheet, and had a look of panic on her face.

“You’d better come in,” she stated bluntly. 

He quickly followed her inside where he found Napoleon lying on the floor, with his eyes closed. He was also naked, so Illya grabbed a sheet to cover him before checking him over. After ascertaining that his partner was alive, Illya then drew his gun and aimed it at Angelique.

“What have you done to him?” he demanded, as he advanced on her.

“It was an accident,” she told him.

She seemed to be genuinely concerned for her lover, but Illya continued moving towards her until she backed into the wall. He then stood, with the gun inches from her heart.

“What happened?” he growled; a look of absolute hatred etched onto his face. “How long has he been like this?”

“Listen, you Russian runt, you can drop the demon act,” she snarled back at him. “He fell from the bed about five minutes ago, and hit his head on the cabinet. I’ve been trying to wake him up.”

A groan from behind him told Illya that his partner was starting to come to, but he didn’t take his eyes, or his gun, from the woman in front of him.

“Napoleon darling, are you alright?” Angelique asked her lover.

Solo sat up and rubbing his head, he very quickly took stock of the situation.

“I have a headache, but I’m otherwise fine. Did I miss something?”

“Your sulky Soviet is under the impression that I hurt you,” she told him. “Call him off, please.”

“Stand down, Illya,” Napoleon commanded. “Will you two ever reach a truce?”

Kuryakin did as his partner requested, albeit grudgingly. He simply didn’t trust the blonde bitch, and would never understand why Napoleon flirted with the danger of sleeping with the enemy.

“You were unconscious,” Illya stated. “For all I knew her superiors had finally instructed the harridan to dispose of you.”

“You really are the most unpleasant little . . .”

“Enough!” Solo said forcefully, as he climbed to his feet; carefully holding the sheet around him. “Honestly, they could print a series of those pulp novels about you both. You do realise that constant bickering is actually a sign of affection.”

Napoleon shivered as two sets of blue eyes pierced him with ice. He held up his hands in conciliation.

“We are ordered back to HQ,” Illya informed him. “And Mr Waverly will be expecting a report from you regarding the contact who requested to meet you. I told him she was unknown to me.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and strode back out to the car; leaving Napoleon staring after him. He was almost certain he would have a believable story by the time they got back.


End file.
